Remember
by SkyKissed
Summary: Juliette may not be able to remember Nick but it's easy to see why a version of herself would have loved him. N/J Fluff


**A/N**: This is absolutely pointless fluff. Just a few short snippets to fill in some of the moments we don't get to see between N/J during the early stages of the curse. When it seemed like they got on fairly well together. :D

* * *

**Remember**

* * *

She has a few weeks to herself before the obsession starts and she is grateful for these. For the first time in years she's free to really be herself, free of any preexisting relationship and all the limitations that come with it. It's liberating, after a fashion, and she'll cling to these memories later. She's Juliette. Not_ Nick's_ Juliette, not the _Captain's_ Juliette, just_ herself_. And, if she's being honest, she enjoys it.

Admittedly, living in a house with a man who is essentially a stranger is a little awkward. When she comes downstairs in the morning (hideously early, and he teases her for this with a friendly, fond energy) he's still curled up on the couch, one of his arms thrown lazily over his forehead. While he's hardly the tallest man she knows he looks cramped on the small sofa, the blanket (singular) covering more of the floor than him. It's an odd and almost childish sight.

She almost always smiles in those moments, leaning idly against the pillar in their home's entryway. Sometimes he'll toss in his sleep (he's a remarkably fitful sleeper) and mutter something. The too long hair will inevitably wind up in his face and she'll suffer the most ridiculous urge to push it away from his forehead. She clamps down hard on the idea. That is inappropriate behavior between two strangers (and that's what they are, aren't they?).

She forces herself to stop looking and continues towards the kitchen.

This room is something of a mixed bag. She loves cooking if only because it relaxes her, works her mind, but there's an odd sort of discomfort that comes with being here. It's designed for a happy couple, the shelves populated with sentimental knickknacks. Her recipes come with notes (telling her whether or not Nick enjoyed it) and some she understands belong to the man. They are hastily etched in a significantly less elegant hand but if she strains her eyes she can make out the words. For the most part they're experimental dishes, combining ingredients she recognizes as her favorites.

Nick isn't a terrible chef but he certainly isn't the_ best_. All she can really says is he'd tried. He'd been willing to try for her.

There's a certain amount of charm in the notion. Juliette hums to herself, plucking one of those sentimental treasures from the shelf.

* * *

They have tentative plans for the evening that inevitably go awry. She's kept late in surgery; he's still on a stakeout with Hank. Both will find the messages left on the answering machine, apologizing that they won't be able to make dinner. It's becoming the running theme in their 'relationship.'

It's well after midnight when she finally manages to get home. She's starving but too exhausted to pick anything up; cooking is out of the question. The woman just wants to crawl up the stairs and into her (their) bed and sleep off her exhaustion. Juliette runs a hand through her hair, tossing her keys in the dish as she steps through the door. The sounds echo about the otherwise silent house; she's alone. Nick won't be home for another few hours.

If she were a little more aware, she'd consider it odd that the notion leaves her feeling a little...disappointed. She sighs, another pass of her hand through her hair.

"Juliette! You're home!"

Nick pokes his head out of the kitchen, smiling that overly expressive smile. She clutches a hand to her chest, staring at him, wide eyed, "_You're_ home! Weren't you...?"

The young man chuckles guilty, dipping his head a little, slipping his hands in his pockets, bouncing on his heels before leaning back to his toes. In those moments, he's more like a pleased child than the knight in shining armor her friends paint him as. So eager to please her (for her to remember him, look at him like she once did). While he's an (almost worrisomely) talented liar his face remains too expressive, too young. Her feelings are decidedly mixed. A part of her can't help but melt in the face of the naked affection; the other rails against the presumed intimacy. She shakes her head, returning the smile with a little more hesitance.

"I uh...I ducked out on Hank. Figured he could watch an empty alley by himself. And I thought you might be hungry?"

She is and her smile widens, "You cooked?"

"No. No, I didn't think you'd want to spend the rest of your night nauseous. Takeout alright?"

"Just perfect."

Oddly, she absolutely means that. It's just what she needs and it's _perfect_. When she tries to follow him into the kitchen he shoos her out. This isn't a night for her to fuss; hell, it's not even a table kind of night. The woman settles herself comfortably in the corner of the couch, flips on the television. She needs something mindless and easy, something to help her relax. Nick emerges from the kitchen with two plates and too much flair, the smile still turning his features. He hands it off to her; an impressive and delicious pizza, perfect for late, lazy nights.

And done precisely how she likes it. A few pepper flakes (just a pinch; most people get it wrong but he's done it perfectly), extra Parmesan. Absolute perfection.

What's even better is that he doesn't even seem to notice he's done it. Nick settles on the opposite side of the couch, turns his attention to the television and his food. She smiles and does the same.

* * *

"You're going to freeze to death."

"I'm not going to freeze. I'll be fine, Nick. I've done this before."

His smirk says that, yes, she's done this before, but she isn't remembering the end result correctly. She rolls her eyes, giving his arm a good natured pat before sliding out of the car. He just chuckles to himself, moving after her.

She's been back for a few weeks now and everything is going well. Occasionally, Nick forgets that she's not quite the woman she was and pushes past their new lines but for the most part this is...comfortable. Juliette may not be able to remember him but it's certainly easy to see why they'd been so in love. For all intents and purposes he's...perfect for her. Instinctively, he moves to take her arm (guiding her out of the path of traffic) but stops at the last moment. He'll shove his hands in his pocket, laugh it off as if this isn't bothering him.

He's been so good, she's willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Juliette slips her arm through his, staring pointedly forward instead of at him. Anywhere but at him. He's smiling so widely, with such heartbreaking adoration, that she doesn't trust herself. She'll do something stupid and impulsive. She'll kiss him (and what's worse, she's not sure she'll regret it).

She'd stopped by the precinct to kidnap him for lunch and she doesn't regret it. Even if there's an embarrassing hint of pink coloring her cheeks that she cannot directly attribute to the cold. Speaking of which...

She really is freezing. The wind is whipping up more than she anticipated and it feels like, at any moment, the sky will open up in true Portland tradition and absolutely drown them.

Nick never stops staring forward, just extricates himself from her grasp and removes his coat. Without comment, he drapes it over her shoulders, offers his arm again.

Surrounded by new warmth (_his_ warmth, _his_ scent), she can't help but smile to herself, glancing down at her feet. It seems like the most preferable place to stare.

They both pretend not to notice the way she instinctively presses more closely to his side, that his arm will eventually make it's way around her waist. She can't remember _him_ but she remembers _this_.

And _this_ is just as perfect as she remembers.

* * *

The first time she visits him at the station proper (she's never gone inside before, considers it an invasion of his privacy), things do start to go sideways. For reasons she can't properly explain the moment she sees the Captain...

She doesn't want to think about it. She's there for Nick.

The feelings haunt her for the remainder of the day, the night. She shifts uncomfortably under her (not) boyfriends concerned gaze. The hand he's placed on the table twitches a little as if he's actively repressing the urge to reach across and takes hers, offer some comfort. He doesn't even know what's wrong but he wants to help her.

He always wants to help.

So she hates herself a little when it isn't his face she sees in her dreams that night (and he's been with her so often there that it feels a little...hollow without him). It isn't his name hissed to her by some foreign voice, crawling over her nerves with a sickening, oily, quality. Offering scenarios, images, that aren't quite in keeping with her taste, don't know her. Juliette sleeps little that night.

Nick is there in the morning. He doesn't say anything; just smiles a tired smile that says he's having just as much trouble sleeping, and offers her a cup of coffee made just the way she likes it.

* * *

Nick works more.

Juliette works more; she _dreams_ more.

The frustration that's been gnawing at her is becoming more pressing. She can understand why she'd loved Nick but she can't understand why she doesn't love him _now_. Everything points to the fact that she should be head over heels for him. But it's not him she's thinking about and that's driving her insane.

Even still, she smiles at their little morning ritual. She smiles when he takes time out of his day to visit her at work, wearing a ridiculous expression and offering her food that she really _shouldn't_ be eating. She feels better around him than she does any other time. He's almost able to counteract the voices in her head.

She wants to love him; Juliette wants to love him more than anything else.

But she can't. Something says she can't and it's driving her insane.

"What are you in the mood for?" Nick presses a beer into her hand, returns to his new place on the couch. Still the opposite side but a little closer to her. A small step (that means the world to the man). "You feeling up to a restaurant or am I getting us takeout?"

"I could cook."

He throws her an amused sidelong look, "You don't cook when it's like this."

"Like what?"

Nick makes a lazy gesture with his hand as if he's pondering the exact answer he's looking to give, "When we've both had a long day and it look like_ that_ outside." Gray and damp, unseasonably cold. Admittedly, it's not out of the ordinary for the city but he's right. It's having a particularly strong effect on her tonight. She's just so tired. "You thought these days were..."

"...For curling up with too many blankets and a bad movie."

"And you own _all_ the worst ones."

His tone is so fond that she's left smiling again. The voices in her head are silenced and she can't help that she closes the distance between them. Juliette pulls the blanket down from the back of the couch and drapes it over them, curling against his side. They'll order Chinese a little later and find a movie (an absolutely godawful abomination that she takes almost childish glee watching). The perfect evening.

Nick's voice stops her as she climbs the stairs, "I have a work..." that gesture with his hand again, a light shrug meant to hide to tension he's actually feeling, "_Function_ a little later in the week. I was wondering if you'd like to come." He holds up his hands, "Before you say no, Wu has assured me there's an open bar."

That dark thrill ripples through her again; the Captain will be there. She'll have an excuse to see him again...

"Yeah, of course. That sounds fun."

She hates that she only sees Renard's face as Nick smiles at her, all affection and warmth and the face she wants so badly to love.


End file.
